Seeking Solace
by Y0URIMAGINARYFRIEND
Summary: The war hasn't quite finished yet, and Sakura is weary of living among the dying. Being a support nin isn't always easy. Oneshot, SakuHana, yuri, non-cannon.


This is kind of...outside my comfort zone. I've not written much yuri, or much war-fic, but this setting wouldn't get out of my head. Seriously, I was dreaming about it, and I'm hoping getting some of it down on paper will help me get a good night's sleep.

Anyway, for peace, for crack pairings, and for the 100 Themes Challenge, I present:

5) Seeking Solace

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It's almost the end of the war, but even in the last battle when everybody knows Kumo is about to back down, people can die. The sticky heat that makes everybody too lazy to hate and fight and kill also makes wounds turn foul in a matter of hours as insects land and disease sets in.

Sakura has lost more shinobi to malaria than blood loss, and it keeps her up through the humid nights, relying on soldier pills and chakra to keep exhaustion at bay. It's all so...undignified, the way this war is dragging to a close. But every ninja will have their glory, and she can take comfort in the knowledge that the condolence letters sent out will say 'Died in action' rather than 'Died of fever'.

She's known for a long time there is no dignity or honour in death, but somehow it makes her feel better to keep up the pretence at least with those who have lost loved ones. She knows from experience it makes it easier to bear.

Her secretary is Hyuuga Hanabi, withheld from the front lines and furious about it because at fifteen she still thinks she's immortal. Nobody else cares what she thinks, because they are all older and have seen war before, and anyway she's the damned heiress now so they can't afford to lose her.

She's only this close to the fighting because they're stretched so thin; because she's good with precision under pressure, and knows a little medical jutsu. That, and her writing is far neater than any of Konoha's professional medics.

In the lulls, when the makeshift ward is full of sleeping, sweating bodies, and the air is thick with more moisture than chakra, Sakura watches her – elegant script flowing from the brush, posture perfect and hair tied loosely back. She looks more like her cousin now, less feminine than her sister with her under-developed hips and strong nose. Hanabi is handsome where Hinata is beautiful, but Sakura is old enough and tired enough not to care.

When the next wave of bodies appear, the pair of them set up yet more beds. Hanabi cleans and bandages wounds, helps set bones, and brews endless amounts of bitter tea for the fever victims. Sakura barely notices until later, when they've only lost one man from the seventeen who arrived and all the rest are stable because she's had time to just work without thinking about barking out orders.

When Hanabi is called to the front line as a last resort, for the final battle – and wasn't the last battle supposed to be the final one, wasn't Kumo too short of resources to keep going? - Sakura feels desolate. A young chuunin, just barely thirteen, is sent to help her, but he is bumbling and too nervous and his hands don't look nearly as comfortable clutching a brush as she suspects they would a kunai.

Still, it's a war, so they manage. Sakura looses maybe one more patient in thirty than she should, but she's too goddamn tired to feel guilt. Or maybe it's the guilt that makes her so tired, makes her want to fall asleep to the sound of ink on paper, scratching out condolences. But she can't, because it's not quite the right rhythm, not the right volume, not the right person there in the room with her.

When Hanabi is brought in, hoisted alongside another limp body on Aoba's shoulders, the weariness drops from Sakura's shoulders faster than chidori. They've both lost a lot of blood; the other kid has lost most of his face and the whole right side of Hanabi's torso is burned an angry, blistering red.

She snaps at her current secretary to get bandages and cold water, and sets to work on the kid with the wrecked face with an unvoiced apology to an equally silent Hanabi. The kid – boy, maybe Hanabi's age or a tad older – has burned his skin off, and she won't be able to save his right eye, but he'll live. She can't let him live with a face like this though, and she keeps working until his lips are whole and smooth again along with his nose. His cheek and eye-socket will look vile, but it's an improvement, Sakura tells herself as she pulls away, lower on chakra than she'd intended.

Time has passed and the murk or twilight brings a settling of the damp air onto everything as she lights a dim lamp and turns to Hanabi. She's only half surprised to see heavy lidded eyes watching her silently, understanding and seeing as only a Hyuuga can. The girl is strong, she reminds herself as she sets to work, peeling back burned clothes at the edges and inspecting the damage fully.

It's not good, the kind of not good that makes her stomach churn. Sakura is amazed Hanabi's silence, given the pain this must be causing her, but she swallows her admiration and fear, and uses the knowledge to help conserve her chakra.

"I'm not going to numb this first, so it'll hurt." She murmurs, receiving a blink of acknowledgement from those lucid white eyes. They both know she's not got enough chakra left to do the job properly even then, but Sakura sets to work anyway, reviving those cells that can be repaired, clearing out the completely obliterated material and encouraging renewal of what flesh survives.

The muscle beneath the skin is easy enough, but the surface itself is still only partially healed when she runs out of chakra and passes out at the side of the makeshift bed. She doesn't notice her helper move her to a bed of her own, doesn't see him try his hand at bandaging the victims. Sakura has given in to the dank depths of exhaustion for the first time in nearly a month and is dead to the world for now.

When she wakes again it's to the frantic shaking of her young helper. His eyes are full of the bleak weariness she's seen in the mirror, the few times she's had a chance to look over these last few months, and even though her brain craves sleep she forces herself to sit up. The cause of her premature rousing is obvious – another wave of patients, less injured than diseased, and to the tune of fevered mumblings she hurries to set up more beds.

Dawn has broken and the air is beginning to thicken with the over-bright sun by the time all the wounded have been tended to and set to rest under dirty white veils; bed nets to stave off mosquitoes and hopefully contain the infection.

It's too bright to be tired, so Sakura takes more pills – dry, because they're starting to run low on water now despite the damp on every surface. Her aide is asleep, and she leaves him in her bed because it's the last one left and until someone dies he doesn't need to wake up anyway. She takes over his other, menial tasks: writing up the patient notes, the logbook; taking a perimeter check and renewing the shelter's protective seals.

Noon finds her sitting at the tiny stove they have – gas, because it makes less smoke – concocting soup. Melons for the liquid, dried meat from a handful of local mammals to give the food some energy, herbs to mask the foul flavour and help keep the wounded living.

A whole ward-full of patients, and only one or two well enough to feed themselves. Those that are healing well – and it crosses her mind that it is always so few because they _always_ leave again before they're really ready – have to help feed those that aren't, despite the risk of spreading disease. It still takes over an hour, and her hands are shaking when she reaches the last bed before her own and gently lift the covers off the slight form lying there.

Hanabi is so still in sleep it makes Sakura feel consciously for her chakra, and the wave of relief she feels when she senses the distinct spark that she's grown to know so well makes her hands tremble as she places them over blistered flesh. The girl doesn't rouse for the first minute or two of healing, but when she does, it's with a whimper. The sound ceases almost instantly as she reaches full consciousness, but it makes Sakura's gut clench.

Still, she'd rather Hanabi kept her flawless skin than suffered less now. They both know she can take the pain, but the loss of that handsome, regal perfection is something Sakura isn't sure she could stand. They need a reminder that in this whole bloody mess that elegance and order can survive.

Hanabi will survive, Sakura is sure of it. She's just too strong for it to be any other way.

When the skin is finally all restored – though still pink and raw – she's out of the little chakra she had left after her interrupted night's sleep. The whole ward is silent but for the low hiss of fevered breaths, and before she has time to think about it, she's climbing into the bed she's been kneeling at for the last couple of hours.

Hanabi is warm, but not fevered, and her eyes see everything Sakura doesn't have words for. She moves over, making a space that Sakura curls in, forehead pressed to the curve of a breast, knees fitting to the indent at her waist. This time sleep is slower to come, but sweeter too; exhaustion tempered by satisfaction and elation and _rightness_. There's no uncontrollable plummet into blackness, only the soft melding of time into empty space.

Sakura isn't woken fast this time, but slides slowly into consciousness as her body's demands for water pull her from the darkness. It's evening, and the bed is empty next to her, but the quiet sound of brushstrokes carries clearly across the chirping of crickets outside. Just the right rhythm to make her eyes open lazily, to let her blink at the straight form sitting at the desk by the entrance.

Hanabi seems so sense her gaze, and turns with searching eyes to watch as she stretches and gets up. It turns to a slight smile as Sakura walks over, straightening her wrinkled clothes.

"You look well," she says, placing her brush carefully, "You hadn't been sleeping enough."

Sakura nods, not really chagrined because they both know she's got no choice in the matter. "How long was I out for?"

"About twenty seven hours. I've kept everybody fed and we've had one death – malaria in bed sixteen – and the kid in your bed has a fever. A runner and I disposed of the body this morning..." She trails off, and Sakura raises a brow. Runners aren't common, and they've also had no more casualties in? Does that mean- "Yes, he said the battle went in our favour. There won't be any more fighting for another day or two."

Sakura's sigh of relief is lost among the sound of breathing, but the sound of rustling fabric is audible as she pulls the younger girl into her arms. Hanabi is strong and steady in all the right ways, but right now she bends to fit against Sakura so soft and supple it's hard to feel which one of them is which.

They don't have time to prolong the contact though, and Sakura slips back into her position of head medic. Hanabi's skin is healed, perfect cream once more, and she takes back her place seamlessly. Other patients aren't so far along, and though most are improving there is much to be done. The night falls fast while the pair of them re-dress wounds and force restless young men back to their beds. Hanabi makes up medicine and Sakura uses her freshly replenished chakra to help nerves grow, bones knit, and ligament reform.

Three men and a kunoichi are ready to be released, but it's past midnight now and none of them know what their orders are any more. It's only once she's sent everybody to bed that she remembers her fill-in helper, fevered and asleep in her bed. It's strange, how Hanabi's presence fills the gap he left so perfectly.

There's space enough for her to sleep in a vacant cot, but Hanabi is watching her, and she ends up slipping between warm sheets and a warmer body. The cots are hard and un-sprung, but with soft flesh to burrow her face against, sleep comes quickly even without exhaustion.

Sakura wakes first this time, fully refreshed for the first time since...well, since war broke out. The whole ward is quiet in the dawn light, but for the ever-present hum of breaths, and Hanabi's face is inches from her own. It's not too early to be getting up and on with the day's work, but she doesn't _need_ to, so she stays where she is, observing.

Hanabi still looks young, the planes of her face still soft despite her strong features. With eyes closed, she could almost be a civilian, just growing into womanhood and ready to be courted by a nice young man. And after all, she is a Hyuuga; the more traditional clans do still adhere to the old traditions of matrimony, even though it's not practical or common among shinobi. When the war is over, maybe this warrior will become a wife, a mother, a...no. Sakura can't imagine Hanabi as anything but a kunoichi, she's too strong for the gentle civilian life.

When the girl awakes, she pushes up on an elbow and looks down with the same keen observation Sakura knows still lingers on her own face, then leans in to press too-thin-to-be-pretty lips against her own. There is nothing soft or feminine about Hanabi's kisses, they are hard with truth and war and Sakura gives in to it. This is not the time to worry about the fact she doesn't even like girls, or that Hanabi is too young, or anything else trivial.

Now is the time to hold tight while the calm lasts, to savour the seconds of time stolen from duty. Time to accept that this girl has seen the front line of battle and lived, and that she's the equal of any other warrior out there defending the village.

When the news comes in – and it will come, Sakura can feel it growing in the stagnant air – that peace has returned, that the sick and injured are all to be transported home, then they will worry about the future. The battle is finally over, this one really was the last, but it will be a day or two before they will get the official orders. And then...they will go home, and maybe Hanabi will break tradition, and maybe this will continue. Maybe she will wake to see this girl's face by her own every morning for the rest of her life, maybe not.

For now, Sakura just kisses her, and finds solace in warm life among the sick and dying.

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